


Just This One Night

by NapsterBlook, spiritcrimson



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mello Lives, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7260109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NapsterBlook/pseuds/NapsterBlook, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritcrimson/pseuds/spiritcrimson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“— L, sir.” Roger interrupts.</p><p>“Yes?” He forsakes his irritation for curiosity. Something isn’t right.</p><p>“There’s… There is— someone here to meet you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just This One Night

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is in the same universe as 'First Kiss' (set waaaay before), and it's also the first part of a roleplay spiritcrimson and I are doing. It's been edited to read like a normal fic, but the POVs tend to jump around. If you're curious, spiritcrimson writes as Mello and I write as Near~  
> Enjoy this 6k word beast of a fix-fic!

Near felt his head tip forward and his vision grow blurry, and he would have been content to let his body succumb to exhaustion if his forehead hadn’t hit the spacebar of his keyboard and woken him up. He stretches and rubs at his bleary eyes, feeling a soft fabric slip off of his shoulders. Roger must have half-heartedly thrown a blanket over him at some point, realizing that his gentle reminders that the detective should be getting some rest fell to deaf ears. The new Watari should have been used to his horrid sleep schedule by now. Near hasn’t slept in two days, and this isn’t even the first time. 

In a way, he thinks that Roger knows that it’s not because he’s busy with so many cases on his hands, or that he’s trying to mimic L in his talent of staying awake for obscenely long amounts of time. Maybe Roger knows that the less time he spends asleep, the less time he has to deal with the nightmares. Maybe Roger knows, and that’s why he gives up and lets him stay up for another night.

He decides that since he’s caught himself dozing off, he should take Roger up on his advice for once. Stifling a yawn, he presses the man’s contact button.

“I’ll be retiring for the night, Watari.”

Roger’s response, Near observes, is a bit delayed. 

“Oh, so soon?” He replies finally, “Are you sure you won’t be working at least a few more hours?”

Near is too tired to register the masked anxiety in Roger’s voice. He only has time to be mildly confused that this man chooses now to ask that question, after spending so long trying to convince him to go to bed. _What does he mean by ‘Am I sure?’_

“No, I’m sure.” Near says shortly, and moves his finger to end the call.

“— L, sir.” Roger interrupts.

“Yes?” He forsakes his irritation for curiosity. Something isn’t right.

“There’s… There is— someone here to meet you.”

—

It's almost perfectly timed, Mello thinks, as he stands just outside the room. He overhears the words Roger's saying to Near and steps forward. He's careful not to make a sound, not yet anyway.

When Mello had contacted Roger, it had been of little surprise to him that he was now serving as the new Watari to the new L. _New L_ , Mello thinks bitterly, as he stares at the back of that white haired genius. Mello refuses to ever accept him as L, not when the title's meant to be rightfully his. Near has claimed credit for Mello's victory. Near won only because of Mello. Without Mello, Near would be dead. And Mello, for his part, is here now, after almost two weeks of faking his death, since the close of the Kira case, to tell Near that he's claiming a false victory. He's here to take what's his. And that's the rightful title of L. Because Mello has won it. Not Near.

He takes another step forward. Near seems to be focused on his computer screens, and Mello's still too silent for him to take notice. Mello decides to change that. His boots click loudly against the floor as he takes the last few steps and now he's standing inside the room, just a little beyond the entry way. He smiles when he sees Near's shoulders tense up from where he's standing.

He decides to speak. This is going to be interesting.

Near furrows his brow, momentarily confused. No one else is in the building besides Roger. Deciding it must be him who just walked in, Near ends the call with a dull click and opens his mouth to inquire why he’s in here. He is cut off by a very familiar voice.

"Hello, Near.”

Near’s chair swivels around in a heartbeat, once the voice connects itself to a face— and upon looking, it is him.  Every thought in his mind stutters to a stop, he can’t even manage to wipe the look of disbelief off of his face. Rising from the chair with wide eyes, he approaches the figure as if in a trance. 

Mello’s grinning in a smug manner as he watches Near abruptly spin around in his chair. It’s a comical sight, honestly. Near, sitting in that chair, a look of sheer disbelief on his face. How can he not enjoy this? It also needs to be noted that Near has, never once, expressed his emotions so blatantly.

Mello’s going to cherish this moment. It’s, after all, the moment he gets to claim his victory. Two weeks, that’s how long he’s been waiting. The moment’s finally here.

His smile, however, slowly fades as Near slowly approaches him. He’s not sure what it is, but there’s something in the way Near’s staring at him, those wide eyes—there’s something strange and unusual about them—that makes him lose the smugness.

Mello looks exactly the same as he did when they last met, only he has a lilt to his lips that suggests he may have been smiling just now. It’s the sleep deprivation, Near reasons, because he has only ever smiled like that in the photo he kept of him, because he can’t be standing there alive and okay, because Mello is supposed to be a pile of ashes lying in a church in Japan. He could be seeing things, because he’s dead, _he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s been dead and you should be over this, Nate._

So when Near stops in front of the allegedly dead— and possibly a figment of his imagination— man and lifts a hand to his scarred cheek, he almost withdraws like he’s been burned. The skin is warm. Mello’s not smiling anymore. Any trace of one has been completely wiped clean. He suddenly forgets why he was here in the first place. All he can do is stare, and slightly flinch, when Near’s hand touches his cheek. He backs away almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t think Near even notices. “Oh my god…” Near breathes. It is only then that Mello realizes what he finds unusual about Near’s eyes. They’re glassy. _He’s…he’s crying? What the hell is going on?_ “You…you’re alive.”

Mello swallows. For the first time, he feels at a loss. Near isn’t acting in the way Mello had expected. He’d expected Near to be sitting there, on his chair, giving him that look of cold indifference, the one he’s always given Mello. He’d expected Near to be smug about how he used Mello to gain his win. That, Mello can handle. This? This, he cannot.

“Well, of course I’m alive, Near. I’m standing right in front of you, aren’t I?” Mello says, feigning annoyance. He’s conflicted, yes, but he can’t let that show. He’s come here for a reason. He’s not going to let Near and his stupid emotions sidetrack him. He laughs at the irony.

There’s a silence after Near breathes out his astonishment, and he is suddenly aware of his body again. Fighting to clear his mind, he brings his arm back to his side while blinking rapidly. He shouldn’t have let himself get so overwhelmed— even if just thinking about Mello standing in front of him, real and breathing, is enough to send him reeling again. So many questions preoccupy him that he lets Mello’s irritable reassurance that he is, indeed, alive, fall into the background like static. 

Aside from the obvious question about how he had survived, there was also the question about his presence in Near’s headquarters in the first place. Why come here, after keeping under the radar for as long as he did? Near sincerely wished he had something to fidget with at this moment, any aide to his chaotic thoughts or comfort in this situation he’s been thrust into. He settles for twirling his hair around his finger for now.

“Near, I’m here to claim my victory and my rightful title to L.” Mello says.

Ah. So that answers at least one question… Near can’t help but feel sick, suddenly. Those words struck some kind of blow, triggering another film of wetness on his eyes. He doesn’t know why. “I thought you were dead.” He still remembers visiting the ruins of the church, two days after Yellow Box. The smell of ashes and rain. He knows now that the grieving was for nothing, but he can’t bring himself to be happy about it.

Mello thinks he hears a hint of sorrow or bitterness in his voice, but he could be imagining it. He scoffs, "Rather stupid of you to think that, Near. Did you _really_ think I'd get myself killed? You of all people should know I'm smarter than that. Assuming I died is rather insulting to me, you know.”

“Your _impulses_ hadn’t failed to eclipse your intelligence before, so it was natural to think you’d went and gotten yourself killed.” He keeps fighting to calm his voice and blink away the forming tears, “I’m sorry that I didn’t stop to contemplate whether or not you were faking your death, I may have been a bit busy with confronting a mass murderer.”

Mello studies Near. He can't seem to recollect the last time he saw Near's face; doesn't think he did, even during their encounter at the SPK headquarters all those months back. Still, from what Mello remembers, Near doesn't look much different. He is still pale, still short. The only difference, Mello notes, is the noticeable exhaustion he can read in the other's face. Mello is itching to know why Near looks so exhausted, so distraught. But later. Right now, that's not what he's come here for.

Mello sees the way Near tries to compose himself, after that brief show of vulnerability, and internally he heaves a sigh of relief. The last thing he needs is a crying Near. He knows Near has questions of his own, he can read them on his face. Mello knows he's going to have to answer some of them, convincingly, if he hopes for this visit to go the way he's planned. Near tries to return to his logical, unaffected self. He really does. But that spiteful side of him bubbles to the surface first, the only familiar response brought on by this myriad of emotions.

“And you seem to think that goal would be as simple to achieve as waltzing back in here. I’m sorry to inform you that you are sorely mistaken.” Near’s tone is steady, if a bit strained. He’s not really sorry.  
  
Mello's eyes narrow. His voice is a low growl as he says, "Excuse me? _Of course_ I'd walk in and claim my victory. You would have no victory without me, Near! You'd be _dead_ without me. So no, I am not mistaken. The title belongs to me.”

Near’s internalized anger comes out as a mere tug at his hair. Not that he’s thrown the detective off, but there was so much wrong with what he’d laid down. Looking closely, one might be able to see Near’s hands shaking a bit. 

He wishes he didn’t have to do this while so emotionally vulnerable.

He can’t shake the fact that Mello’s words aren’t completely false. Mello foresaw a mistake in his plan that ended up costing him his life trying to fix— or so Near thought. It was a major source of guilt for him the past few weeks, even after giving Mello credit for what he’d done, it never felt like it was enough. 

But going so far as to say _he_ deserved L’s title? Near wasn’t going to hesitate in shooting down that prospect. Not a chance.

Mello observes Near closely. Very, _very_ closely. He's had enough years to figure out what Near's actions mean, even the slightest ones. He watches Near's hand move to his hair, tugging at it slightly. He also notices how Near's hands are shaking. The slightest of movement, yet never going missed. Mello finds that curious. Near seems... _angry._ No, maybe not even angry. He looks frustrated, as if he's having trouble coming to terms with all that Mello's thrown at him. _Good_ , Mello thinks, almost sadistically. This is what Mello's always felt like, whenever Near has spoken to him. If Near can feel even a fraction of the frustration Mello has felt in all these years, it's absolutely worth it. And justified.

He knows, deep down, that Near is right. Blowing up the Mafia headquarters was a split-second decision he'd made, just to avoid _losing_. He'd had no idea if he'd make it out alive back then. It was just luck, just luck that he'd survived. But this? This is different. Mello had _planned_ this, carefully thought it over, for days. He'd gone over every minute detail with Matt, foreseeing every little obstacle, coming up with a counter-attack for everything. _Except for Matt getting killed_ , Mello thinks with a pang. _That wasn't a part of the plan._ Mello brings himself together just enough to say, in a low voice, “And you still had no business _assuming_ anything, Near. That's what fucking drives me nuts! You just _assume_ that you're better than me, you _assume_ I let my emotions get the best of me! You just always fucking _assume_!"

He was supposed to remain calm, at least as calm as he could possibly be around Near, who always fucking pushes his buttons! Even if Mello notices the way Near's blinking, as if he's trying to keep tears at bay, he doesn't think much on it. Right now, Near is pissing him off. Really, _really_ pissing him off. “Am I of that little importance, that you do not even stop to think of whether or not the person, because of whom you're _alive_ to confront said mass murderer, is fine or not? Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic, Near." Mello's throwing the same venom back at Near, just that _his_ venom is far more potent than Near's could ever hope to be.

“Perhaps I’m the one mistaken here, but wasn’t it you who passed on working with me all those years ago? Who left and willfully handed the case and thus the title to me?” Near shows him a bitter, vindictive smirk. “I’m afraid it’s too late to go back on that now, Mello.” Near steps around him, towards the door. “And if working as L truly is your goal, then I suppose the only way to achieve that would be to take the title alongside me.” 

Mello grits his teeth. This little fuck is making it very, very hard on him. He's going to play it dirty. Of course he is. Mello should've seen it coming. It's Near, after all. When does he _not_ play dirty? "Yes," Mello concedes, albeit reluctantly, "I did. But I was mad, I was grieving, and I couldn't stand to even _look_ at you, let alone work with you. I left because if I hadn't, who knows what I'd have done or said? You should thank me for walking away." Truth is, Mello doesn't have a valid answer. He did hand over the title to Near, it was a stupid, impulsive, brash decision. But didn't Near know, when Mello said this was a race, to see who won, he'd implied that it was L's title that needed to be won? Mello thought he'd made that clear. He wanted to _defeat_ Near, and then he wanted to take that title from him. That was always what he'd wanted.

Near watches Mello’s newfound resolve and control over his emotions start to crumble. _You never change._ He counters every hole Near has poked in his plans, but he can see that he is starting to crack. Near won’t back down from the title and neither will Mello from trying to claim it, so he intends on ending their squabble before it spirals out of control.

Mello sees red as Near steps away, trying to dismiss him with those words. Those words. _Take the title alongside me_. Mello snaps. In a fit of fury, he grabs hold of Near's wrist, his grip tightening with bruising intensity. He glares at Near, unconsciously taking a step closer. Near tenses up and tries to pull out of his grip, but he keeps on tightening. The boy has never liked physical contact, but Near stops struggling to prove that he is not afraid of Mello. He never has been, he sure as hell won’t start now just because Mello wants to get a little bit rough with him. Near meets his eyes as his rival finally explodes.

"Listen to me," Mello growls, voice sharp enough to cut through ice, "What part of _I won_ do you not understand? L's title belongs to the person who won, and that was me. You cannot, for a moment, think that I didn't win. Do you know, do you fucking know what I went through when I was carrying out that plan? I had everything planned, Near, everything! But there was that fear, that fear that I'd fuck up and instead of faking it, I'd actually die! Do you _know_ what that's like? To know that what you're doing is dangerous, yet you do it anyway? I was willing to fucking risk my life, do whatever it took, to see this case to a close! That's the kind of effort _I_ put in. And what have you done? All you've done, throughout this case, is used _my_ efforts, _my_ actions, to further your plans. You don't get to do that, Near! You don't get to take credit. I deserve that. In all of this, I'm the one that's lost a lot. I lost my idol, I lost half my fucking face to the explosion, I lost _Matt_ , my goddamn friend! For once, in your fucking life, don't be such an unfeeling asshole, _Nate_!”

It’s the last part of his longwinded outburst that gets through to him. Unfeeling. He’s not going to take that from him, he can’t take this…

“It’s _always_ me, isn’t it? _I’m_ always the unfeeling asshole. Are you sure about that?” He rips his arm away, barely noticing the red marks imprinted on the flesh from Mello’s fingers. Stepping away, his voice gets lower, softer. Colder. “You think that I’m callous for not wondering if you were fine, but when was the last time you ever considered what I felt, if I was okay? I know it doesn’t matter to you, I don’t expect it to _matter_ to you, but in case I’m wrong, I can inform you that I was _not_ okay when I— when I found out.” 

He’s trembling again, more violently than before. His voice wavers but otherwise stays in that unsettling monotone. Never has he been this furious or _upset_ before, of course it was Mello of all people to dig up these kinds of emotions.  “I lost L and Matt too, they don’t exist solely in your mind, you _prick_. For a while there, I thought I had lost you too, I thought I…”

He pauses, biting his lip so hard he might have drawn blood. “Do you know what that’s like? To think someone died because of your own mistake? I haven’t slept in _days_ because of the nightmares, and they’re always about you— _You_ …” Pressing his sleeves against his eyes, his tone had become higher-pitched at the last syllable. It takes a few deep breaths before he trusts himself to speak again, lowering his arms. Mello has the sudden urge to reach out, grab his arm, try to steady him. He wants to say, _Calm_ _down_ , _Near. You're not in control. This is not you._

He refrains. Mello has no right to, because he’s the reason Near is in this state. He's not even sure where that urge comes from. All Mello knows is that his rage, his hatred for Near is fast disappearing. A part of him--the part that's always wanted to put Near in his place, always tried to one-up him--wants to yell back, doesn't want to stand back and take all that Near's throwing at him. Another part of him, however, thinks that he deserves to listen to all of this. That part of him thinks it's selfish that Mello gets to constantly use Near as his emotional punching bag, and Near always takes it.

He's never seen Near like this before. His eyes are not blank, like he's used to. No, they're filled with emotion. Rage. Near's eyes are brimming with barely concealed rage. Mello listens, his jaw slackening in surprise. Not that he cares. He's too focused on Near's words - When has _Mello_ considered how _Near_ feels? Something in those words strikes a chord and the answer comes to Mello almost instantly. Never. He's never, in all these years, ever thought about Near's feelings, because he's always assumed that Near never cared. And suddenly, unbidden, Mello feels his stomach twist uncomfortably. It takes a moment for Mello to place the feeling, but when he does, Mello thinks he's going to be sick. Guilt. He's feeling guilt.

  
Mello listens silently, taking it all. His eyes widen when Near mentions the nightmares, nightmares about _Mello_. Mello wants to say something, but words fail him. Mello watches Near pressing his sleeves to his eyes. Mello thinks he's trying to wipe away tears. Did he really affect Near to such an extent? The notion seems laughable, but it's all in front of him. His eyes aren't deceiving him. This is real. Near's just admitted that he grieved for Mello, that he's had _nightmares_ about Mello. Mello quietly takes in Near's disheveled appearance. He's done this. He's responsible for this. The guilt is starting to suffocate him.

“You would not have this victory if it were not for me either. Do not fool yourself.” Near says slowly, every word measured and quiet, “I know you like to think that I don’t care or that I don’t grieve, but I do, and I did. It’s one thing to assume you deserve all the credit, and another to assume you’re the only one affected by this case. Because you are not.” He narrows his eyes. “ _Fuck you._ “

That’s when he decides to turn and leave Mello with that, passing by Roger, who was standing by the door. 

Maybe now that he knows his rival was faking his death, the nightmares will stop.

—

When Near finally turns around and leaves, Mello doesn't think to stop him. He can't. His eyes fall on Roger, who's standing in the doorway. Judging by his expression, Mello figures he was around for the entire confrontation. Mello would've laughed at how ridiculous he looked, if not for the fact that Near's words still kept playing around in his head. _Nightmares_. That word, in particular, continues to plague Mello's mind. Was he really the cause for Near's lack of sleep? For some particular reason, Mello thinks Near's lying, that he's trying to gain the upper hand here, that guilt tripping Mello into thinking he's the cause for Near's disturbed sleep schedule, will make Mello back off. It's a stretch, but Mello wouldn't put it past Near.

He asks Roger, "Did you hear everything?" Roger nods at him. Mello lets out a long sigh, running his fingers through his hair. "Is there an empty room for you to spare? I'm tired and in no mood to go back right now. I'd like to stay the night here."

Roger nods and says, "Yes, there is. I'll show you to it." He turns around and exits, Mello following slowly after him.

—

Near’s room is immaculate save for the stray, swept over card-towers and robots that he hasn’t bothered to pick up. He grabs one of his favorites off of the floor, a cobalt blue one with his initials scratched into it’s foot. It was from before Wammy's. He sets it on his nightstand like he always does.

It’s routine, a reassurance in spite of what just happened out there.

Near turns and lifts up the covers, burying himself underneath a mountain of blankets. He curls up, pulling his knees to his chest as he waits for exhaustion to take over. Predictably restless, especially with so many questions and everything he could or should have said still whirring through his mind, Near regrets not taking any sleeping pills beforehand. The warmth and comfort of his own bed is too good to leave, so he pulls up the blankets further and lets his remaining thoughts sap whatever strength he has left. He thinks he hears footsteps come closer to his door and fade away, and then darkness presses in on all sides.

—

Mello is slightly bothered that Roger leads him to a room directly opposite the one Near walked into, but he keeps his complaints to himself. He silently nods when Roger unlocks the door, says, "Call me if you need anything, Mello. There's an intercom inside." He turns around to leave, presumably to check on Near, Mello thinks, but he stops. He looks over his shoulder at Mello and gives a tired smile. "I'm glad you're alive, Mello. And so is Near." Before Mello can open his mouth and say something, Roger leaves. Mello stares after Roger, contemplating calling him back just so he can know if whatever Near's said--about the nightmares--is true. He decides it's not worth it, and he's exhausted and so he walks into his room, gently shutting the door behind him.

The room is plain. The walls are white and aside from a bed in the corner and a desk with the intercom, there's nothing more in it. Near mustn't have bothered furnishing the rest of the rooms in the headquarters, only the ones he and Roger live in, Mello figures. It makes sense, he supposes. Why waste funds furnishing rooms when they aren't even going to be used? Besides, it's not like Mello's going to make this his permanent residence. He's simply here for the night. Come tomorrow, he's going to leave and make other arrangements. Like hell he'd stay here. He knows Near won't ask him to, anyway. With a frustrated sigh, Mello plops down on the lone bed, pulling the covers up over himself. He lies down, throwing his arm across his face. He hopes he can fall asleep.

—

Near’s nightmares tend to vary in subject matter, but he wasn’t lying about them always involving Mello. This time, they’re in the common room with the stained glass windows casting vibrant lights on the wood panels. Near was setting up a domino trail in the shape of an L, ignorant to the sneers and glares of a certain blonde studying nearby.

Near's been seeing illusions, around corners and behind bookshelves, of a tall winged figure. Even now, he sees glowing eyes peering out from beneath Mello’s table. He thinks it’s been stalking Mello, stalking Near. It definitely doesn’t mean well. No matter how many deep breaths Near takes, no matter how long his domino trail gets, he can’t work up the courage to warn Mello about it. Would he believe him?

When it starts getting late, children leave the common room one by one, and eventually Mello leaves like the rest of them. Watching him go, Near gets a sinking feeling in his chest. As he’s picking up his dominoes, he hears a tremendous crash followed by screams and the sound of crackling. Like lightning. Or fire.

Then everything’s shifting and engulfed in flames. Panic constricts his throat. He calls out for Mello, wishing he could have prevented this as he runs past pieces of burning debris. Mello’s shadow, clad in all black against scorching red, comes into Near’s vision. He comes closer, runs faster, screams louder, but can never quite reach him.

In reality, Near’s in his bedroom, body tangled in his sheets from thrashing vigorously. His screams are interrupted only by quivering sobs and the calling of a single name.

—

He can't sleep. He keeps tossing and turning, but no matter what he does, he can't get Near's words out of his head. He keeps replaying the scene in his mind. He thinks back to the way Near's face had looked, all vulnerable and on the verge of a breakdown, his meek attempt at pulling himself together. _Nightmares about you_ , Mello remembers. He wonders if Near is fast asleep, if he'd been bluffing after all. Mello is slightly annoyed that he can't seem to fall asleep, that Near's words have strongly affected him— _like always_.

"God, I fucking hate him!" He mutters angrily. He rolls on to his side, closes his eyes, tries to clear his mind, counts down backwards from 100. Eventually, he feels himself drifting.

His light sleep is broken when he hears frantic knocks on his door. Mello jerks awake, sitting up straight in his bed. Years of being in the Mafia has taught him to remain alert at all times. You never know who's out to get you when it comes to the Mafia. You get on someone's bad side, and you have to end up fearing for your life. Mello slowly grabs his phone from the side table, squinting as the bright light assaults his eyes, struggling to see the time. It's late. Mello curses and gets off the bed when the knocks do not cease. If anything, it's getting louder by the second. And then Mello hear's a voice accompanying the knocks.

"Mello! Open the door quickly! Please hurry!" It takes Mello's sleep addled brain a moment to register the voice as Roger's. He quickly opens the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Roger? What the--" Mello's prevented from finishing his sentence because Roger's grabbed hold of his arm and is pulling him along. Mello's eyes widen in surprise when Roger brings them to a stop in front of Near's door. "Roger?" Mello's voice is wary.

"He won't open his door," Roger says, a frantic edge to his voice. "He's having a nightmare and he's locked his door so I can't reach him!” At that, Mello's look falters.

"Did you say nightmare?" He asks with a tinge of concern. Roger furiously nods, repeatedly banging on the door. Mello grabs hold of his hand, preventing him from knocking once more. Instead, he uses all his strength and pushes against the door. He repeatedly pushes, each shove stronger than the previous one. He's never bust open a door before, and it's harder than Rod Ross made it seem. Mello, for the first time, curses his slight build. From here, he can faintly hear the screams coming from inside. Mello pushes harder. Eventually, something gives and the door swings open and Roger grabs hold of him before he can stumble and fall through.

Once the door's open, the two of them rush to where Near's thrashing about wildly on his bed, his body drenched in sweat. His screams aren't stopping and each one pierces right through Mello, making him flinch. He needs to tread carefully here. He slowly walks around the bed, to the side closest to Near's. He kneels down and rests one hand gently on Near's shoulder. He shakes it lightly. "Near," He calls out. He isn't going to shout. He needs to be calm here. Near doesn't respond to him so Mello shakes him a little more vigorously. "Near!" His voice is a louder now. Near still doesn't respond to him. "NEAR!" Mello's shouting now, shaking him relentlessly. When Near still refuses to respond, Mello starts to panic. He doesn't know where it comes from, but before he knows it, Mello's standing over Near, both his hands on either one of Near's shoulders and he shakes him. Belatedly he realizes his vision is blurring. He doesn't think too much about it. "NEAR, IT'S ME, MELLO! WAKE _UP_ , NEAR!" Mello's voice catches on the last word.

And suddenly, Near stops thrashing. His screams stop. His eyes slowly open, shiny and wet with tears that leave streaks down his face. Once he blinks them away, the first thing that comes into focus is Mello, a look of pure terror on his face. Both of them are breathing heavily, neither daring to move.

It’s to be expected that Near is breathless and taking in gulps of air, he thinks, but why would Mello be panting in panicked intervals as well? He doesn’t dwell on this thought, he tries to catch his breath but it’s interrupted by a few weak sobs. His stomach is twisted into knots, he’s dizzy and sweat leaves his hair matted to his forehead. _Why tonight, oh lord, why…_

Mello's still maintaining his grip on Near's shoulders, eyes boring into his moist, terrified ones. Mello can see that Near's crying, shaking, his body sweaty, and it's the first time he's seen Near like this, completely undone and so very _human_ and it's unsettling and Mello momentarily tightens his grip. He tries to even out his own breathing, however. It won't do for him to appear terrified as well, as though he's the one dealing with the aftermath of a nightmare. He needs to maintain his own composure if he wants to comfort Near.

Eventually, it's Roger that breaks the deathly silence that seems to have suddenly settled. "Mello, I think you need to step back. Let him compose himself.” The words don’t seem to translate, at least until, almost reluctantly, Mello lets go of Near, making a move to stand upright and step away from the bed, giving Near breathing space, help him relax.

For an unexplained reason, a stab of dread shoots through Near. He’s clutching at Mello’s arms, eyes wide. Without thinking, he mouths: _Don’t_ , his voice dying in his throat, and places two thin arms around Mello’s neck. Mello's left staring in confusion, eyes widening in surprise at the action. Near is not a physical person, everyone knows that. But there's something that's driving him to act the way he is right now.

Mello's surprise only grows when Near grips Mello's shirt tightly and buries his face into his shoulder. Mello feels the sudden dampness where Near's face is buried and it takes all his willpower not to shove him away. It's not like Mello wants to. It's instinctive, a natural reaction to whenever Near's made Mello uncomfortable. Right now, Mello is very uncomfortable but he also feels a surge of protectiveness rush through him.

Near keeps his hold over him as strong as he can, but he’s exhausted from the night terror and ends up pulling Mello down a bit when he can’t hold himself up. He doesn’t know why, but he lets his hold of his emotions and his composure collapse. He lets himself fall apart, clinging to Mello’s shirt and soaking his shoulder in tears. Between the lingering fear and the slight embarrassment of being caught with his guard down in front of his rival, he thinks of only two things: that he’s glad that Mello’s here and that he doesn’t want him to leave. “Please,” He says so quietly that he doesn’t even think that Mello can hear him, “Stay..."

Roger had never thought that he’d bear witness to his surrogate children embracing each other like this, but he’s not exactly complaining. After watching in astonishment, he turns, nodding sagely at Mello, and leaves the two to their own devices.

Near is terrified, he's crying and he's holding on to Mello for comfort. The least Mello can do is give him that. So he gives in, wraps his own arms around Near's waist, sits down on the mattress and slowly lifts Near up into a sitting position. Near still doesn't let go of his hold on Mello. Mello then shifts closer and pulls Near entirely against him, his hands gently rubbing his back as he whispers. ”Ssh, calm down, I'm here." Near whimpers into his shirt and Mello adds, "I'll stay. I'm going to stay right here." He doesn't even notice Roger leaving the room. He's unconcerned with anything that's not Near. His priority is getting to calm Near down. Anything else is irrelevant.

Eventually, Mello feels Near's sobs quieten, and his breathing relax. Mello heaves a sigh of relief. He doesn't let go of Near, however. Near's still snuggled against him, his arms wound tightly around his neck, and Mello likes the feeling. He doesn't think much on why he does, but he does. He buries his face into Near's shoulder, hands still rubbing Near's back soothingly.

—

He doesn't know how long they've been in that position, but Near still hasn't let go of Mello, only occasionally shifts in his sleep to make himself more comfortable. He's essentially sitting on Mello's lap right now, his head against Mello's chest. Mello hears the door open and glances up to see Roger standing in the doorway. Mello can only make out the shining outline of his glasses in the darkness.

"Is he alright?" Roger asks.

"He's asleep," Mello says, one hand slowly finding its way to Near's hair, fingers gently moving through soft, damp white strands. Roger nods and is about to turn around when Mello adds, softly, "Roger, I think...I think I'd like to stay. At least for a few weeks."

Roger smiles. "I'll make the necessary arrangements." Then he shuts the door gently.

Mello glances down at the sleeping boy in his arms. He doesn't feel even a tinge of hatred for him anymore. Come tomorrow, things might be the same. If he knows one thing, it's that Near is going to pretend this night never happened. It's what Near does. He'll pretend he never bared his emotions to anyone, he'd rather let people believe he doesn't have any. Mello's alright with that.

Eventually, exhaustion takes over and Mello finds himself drifting. He closes his eyes and lets sleep claim him.

Tomorrow is a new day. He'd rather not think of it. All that's there is tonight, Near's sleeping in his arms, and he doesn't hate Near, and they're not rivals. They're just Mello and Near, seeking comfort in one another.

Just this one night.


End file.
